


This Unconscious Love

by AndreaLyn



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're meant to recruit a hypnotist to their ranks who can make anyone in the world love him. Arthur has the feeling they're in over their heads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Unconscious Love

“For this next performance, I’m going to need a volunteer.”

Cobb and Arthur sit tightly in a small booth in the back of a curiously hushed Vegas showroom watching Saito’s Splendours of the Occult. They’ve seen a girl perform illusions created from nothing and a man dazzle with oddities of the chemical world. They’ve been followed by the talents of a handsome Englishman who is soliciting help from the audience, blocking out the bright stage lights with his hand and seeking out his volunteer. His eyes inevitably land on a young man in the first row – clad in a lovely suit. His tie matches his piercing bright blue eyes. 

He’s a rich man, by the looks of his clothes and demeanor, but from Arthur’s quick appraisal, he’s not in on the con.

They watch as the man – Eames, according to his curt introduction to the mark – does little more than sit Mr. Robert Fischer down in a stool and begin talking to him smoothly; laying casual touches to Fischer’s person every now and then. The velvet of his voice pulls Arthur in and before he even realizes that he’s supposed to be looking for the strings to the performance, the trick seems to already be over. 

There’s a pocket watch dangling from Eames’ trousers, but he hadn’t even pulled it out once to use in the show.

“You see, darlings,” Eames remarks to the audience, holding his trinket of victory up and taking a bow. “His wallet, with five hundred dollars cash. And the wallet’s worth more,” he echoes Fischer’s words from earlier when Eames had simply crouched down before him and persuaded him, with words alone, to give him his wallet.

Arthur stares to the side and tries to find Cobb’s gaze.

“Did you see how...”

“No,” Cobb says coolly. “I’ll stay here. You head backstage and make the offer.”

Arthur slips away from the table and can’t help but notice that even though Eames had made a show of the lights being in his way before, he tracks Arthur’s every step as he leaves the room. Arthur navigates his way out to the sound of Eames calling for another volunteer for something ‘that may be shocking to some, but impressive to all.’

*

The man is named Mr. Eames and he meets Arthur for the first time in his hotel room.

“I saw you watching me tonight,” Eames says as he idly studies the opened pocket watch in his hand. He’s doing his very best to appear disinterested, but he’s angled his body towards Arthur and continuously glances in mirrors as if to keep an eye on all angles of the room. He moves with the kind of caution that is typically only taught from experience in tricky situations. 

Arthur sits in a chair in the corner of the room and he is prepared for all inevitabilities. He keeps his gun hidden and remains calm, hands folded in his lap as he regards this strange magician of the spoken word. 

“What are you doing here?” Eames calmly asks as he begins to divest his stage-clothes. He hangs his long wool coat up on the back of the door and begins to brush his thumb over the buttons of his starched shirt – the outfit, combined with the suspenders and brown shoes lends him the air of a 19th century magician. 

Arthur keeps his eyes steadily on the curve of Mr. Eames’ neck, paying attention swiftly to the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows and suddenly, rather than saying ‘I have a job prospect for you’, Arthur is consumed with wanting to know other things. “How did you convince Fischer to give up his wallet so easily?”

“I asked nicely,” Eames replies with a smirk. “Honestly. What if he was a plant?”

“He wasn’t,” Arthur contradicts swiftly. “And you didn’t just convince him to let you borrow it. It’s still there in your back pocket. What was it? Five hundred dollars...”

“...and the wallet’s worth more,” Eames recites, finishing the sentence for Arthur. “Yes. I believe I do still have it in my possession. Then, Fischer was a generous man.” He holds Arthur’s gaze and gives no indication that he’s about to let loose his secrets.

“Who are you?” Arthur demands once more. He’s here on Cobb’s orders to try and recruit this man to forge for them, but he’s beginning to think that they’ve taken on more than they can handle. He stands in order to pace and keep moving in the event that things turn for the worst.

Eames clicks the quaint pocket watch shut and attaches the hook of the chain back onto his suspenders. He moves with the same fluid grace that he performed with on stage, though a person wouldn’t expect it of a man his size. He approaches and leans forward so that it gives the appearance that he’s bearing down from miles away, even if he and Eames are of the same height. “I can make you believe I’m anyone,” he murmurs, barely more than a whisper. “I can be anything you want me to be.” He fetches the pocket watch, now, and lets it sway to and fro, catching Arthur’s distant attention. “Don’t be so naive to think this is where any power lies,” he murmurs as he comes closer and his lips all-but-brush Arthur’s. “I could make you love me,” he says and there is no denying the chill down Arthur’s back evoked from those words.

That threat.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Arthur replies coolly.

Eames just grins, as if he’s been issued a challenge. He brushes his thumb the once over his lips and leans in closer to Arthur, pressing his chest against Arthur’s until their hearts beat in opposing time, chaotic and merging and chaotic again. “Would it really be so terrible, to be in love with me?” He presses a single finger to Arthur’s lips when he opens his mouth to speak. “Hush,” he breathes out, the word like waves combing the shore. “Just listen,” he patiently remarks. His tone is relaxed, but his gaze is sharp and attentive. “Listen to me, Arthur. Just listen to me.” He presses his hand to the small of Arthur’s back and slides his fingers up his spine. “I’m not a bad man. I just have a way with words. You’re going to listen to me,” he says, assured. “And you’re going to watch me. You’re going to follow me anywhere I go and you’re going to like the curve of my lips.” He touches Arthur’s mouth with his other hand as he says this, stroking two fingers over the chapped lip. “You’re going to wonder how I got to keep that wallet and you’ll feel a thrill of desire at wanting to do it yourself. You think I’m gorgeous,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb up the curve of Arthur’s cheek. “Listen to me, Arthur. Take me for my actions and not just my words, for the kisses and the way your body feels against mine in the middle of an ink-black night.” He presses their torsos together and Arthur feels Eames’ erection pressed up against him. “Would you really oppose love so fervently that you would ignore what’s in front of you?”

He eases off at that and it’s almost like the spell of a moment is broken. Arthur clears his throat and tries to compose himself, forgetting why he’s come there in the first place. “Nice try, Eames,” he gets out roughly. 

“Yes,” Eames murmurs with a pleased smile. “It was. On your way, Arthur.”

It’s only later in the evening that Arthur realizes he’d never given Eames his name. 

*

He watches Eames with women. 

He watches the way they track his fingers and hands and the way Eames casts a spell over them with hushed words and an old pocket watch. He watches the way their mouths sit half-open as if he’s captivating them and stealing away their souls for a temporary exhibition of the damned in his pretty playhouse. Each of the girls Arthur tracks Eames with stares at the man like he’s a saviour and a devil at once and they never back off.

In the weeks that Arthur has been following him, not a single girl has ever pushed away.

“Tell me you love me,” he coaxes, words deep and soothing.

“I do,” the girl always parrots back with an adoring look his way. 

Tonight, Eames looks across the bar and Arthur isn’t quick enough to raise the paper to cover his face. Eames sees him and in three seconds, Arthur feels a chill go down his spine at the notion that in those few moments, Eames has been able to read Arthur inside and out. 

*

“They say he’s got some kind of magical prowess,” says Cobb as they take their seats to watch the show in the middle of the Amazing Ariadne’s illusions. Whole worlds appear above the audience and Arthur tracks familiar streets of Paris in the dazzling dancing lights above him. He reaches up to touch a lamppost that spots the street just outside Notre Dame and feels a slight buzz of energy at his fingertips as he touches it.

Cobb reaches out to pull Arthur’s hand down when Saito gives them a glare from the side of the stage. 

None of this can be actual magic. Arthur is sure there’s chemistry behind this and explanation and therefore, Eames cannot have any power that other mortals do not possess. “He’s just a man,” says Arthur curtly.

“We still need a forger.”

“I’ll talk to him again after the show,” Arthur promises. 

*

Eames is waiting for him. 

Arthur has to refrain from giving in to his body’s baser urges and simply jumping him atop the oak dresser he leans on. He flexes his fingers and finds strength in him, focusing his mind directly on exactly what he’s come to offer. There are dreams to be stolen from and Eames’ fingers are already quick enough in the real world that he would be an asset to their cause. He closes the door behind him and keeps his mind sharp on the matter. “Eames, I need to talk to you.”

“I was hoping it wasn’t that,” Eames sighs. “Breaking up with me already?” He smirks and begins to take off his clothes with smooth and methodical movements, his fingers occupied with buttons and fabric and catching Arthur’s attention. He steps forward as his shirt falls to the ground and Arthur feels his attention drifting away from the matter at hand. Eames rests his fingers on Arthur’s chin and tips his attention away from his bare torso. “Did you want to talk?” he asks, with soft concern, but also with barely any conviction.

Arthur struggles past his body’s desires and grabs Eames by the waist of his trousers and pushes him in the direction of the bed. “We’ll talk later,” he insists.

*

He’s back in his hotel room staring at the angry red marks on his neck and chest, brushing his fingers over them and wondering if they’re meant to be a sign of possession, but he can’t call up Eames and just ask and so he assumes that yes, they are. 

The next day he shows up at the performance hall to ask Eames to join them in dreams, but the show has departed. 

“Where are they going next?” he snaps at the one of the men packing up crates. He receives a clueless shrug in response. Arthur curses to himself, aware that Dom is going to have his ass for this. 

He’s never been this unreliable before. What the hell has Eames done to him?

*

“Well?” asks Eames as he stands in the alley outside the show-hall, clad in that woollen coat of his and with fingerless gloves keeping his fingers warm in the November weather of Paris. Arthur has been aching to see him for months and he’s chased him down over the world, only to be too late in every venue. 

Now, here he is, and Eames is speaking to him as though they’ve never parted. “Well, what?” Arthur asks, his teeth chattering. He’s not nearly so comfortably dressed. 

Eames approaches and slides his coat around Arthur’s shoulders. He pulls the watch from its chain and opens it to study the inside, as if waiting for the second-hand to hit some magical time in which it will be right for them to speak. Arthur listens to the soothing ticking of the watch and the way he can faintly hear Eames murmuring softly in his ear. Don’t you worry, darling, you’ll be warmed right up.

“Do you love me?” 

Arthur doesn’t respond. He merely catches Eames’ gaze and gives him a sharp look, even as his stomach turns in direct disobedience with what he’s about to say. “I told you. You can’t make me love you.”

“There is always an anomaly to a rule, I suppose,” muses Eames with a lamenting look upon his face. He eases closer and Arthur fades into a comfortable space of listening to the ticking of the second-hand and watching Eames’ face, drawn in by his soft gaze and his full lips – drawn in by a long kiss shared while applause erupts inside the theatre. 

When he pulls away, he is regarding Arthur strangely, but the look passes and he fetches his coat back and catches the pocket watch back in his palm.

“Arthur,” he says and his name is a sudden cannon being fired, so filled with volume and importance that Arthur stands at attention and glares at Eames. 

“What?”

Eames regards him curiously and opens his mouth to speak, but Arthur doesn’t remember what he says. All he knows is that the feeling in his stomach has amplified and he’s struck with the sudden blow of infatuation and lust as he watches Eames slide into his coat and heads inside to put on his act and pocket wallets and hearts at once. 

Arthur slides his hand inside his sweatervest to feel his heart pounding harder than before as he watches Eames cast his gaze back to him. 

He remembers only after the fact – when Eames has got Arthur’s leg pinned over his shoulder and fucks him with slow determination and the sounds of Paris blare in from their cheap windows – that he keeps forgetting to ask Eames to join him in dreams and to be anyone he wants away from the real world.

*

He meets with Cobb for tea outside the Picasso museum five weeks after the first show they saw.

“I see the way you look at him. Are you in love with him?” is all Cobb asks.

“Yes.” Arthur sees no reason to obfuscate and instead gives the truth for what it is. 

“Has he agreed to work with us?”

Arthur can’t bring himself to talk about how he’s never managed to ask, how Eames seems to always anticipate the question coming and change the topic or somehow divert Arthur’s attentions until they’ve parted ways. Arthur doesn’t have Eames’ phone number and still only knows his schedule by the troupe’s travel dates. “No,” is all Arthur says, grimacing heavily and ignoring the buzzing in the back of his mind that says he’s missing something. 

“I’m worried about you, Arthur,” Cobb says frankly, placing coins down on the table to pay for their drinks. “You haven’t been yourself, lately. Especially when you’re around him.”

“I don’t know what it is he does,” Arthur confesses. “I don’t know what it is he does to me, but I can’t stop thinking about him when he’s gone and when he’s there, I can barely think of anything else.”

“Why don’t you take a break,” Cobb suggests, concern lingering in his features – evident in the downturn of his lips. “I’ll worry about recruiting Eames. You just go over the security details and procure more information on the mark.”

He leaves Arthur alone at the table with his thoughts of Eames and of his world slowly splintering before him. Everything he holds secure and safe is no longer that way. He has no faith in anyone but Cobb and he still has no idea how Eames does what he does. He digs coins from his pocket to leave a tip and goes back to facts and figures – hard facts that can’t deceive and dupe. 

*

It’s Cobb who inevitably ropes Eames into their business by bluntly offering him a job while he was still on stage in a small venue in Virginia. Arthur’s mind is muddled when it comes to Eames, but clear as the calm sea at any other time and so their jobs aren’t affected. He steals moments with Eames when he can with lips and fingers and insistent touches and claiming marks and drags his nails down Eames’ back in place of saying he loves him. 

“All those girls I watched you with,” he murmurs. “Can you break the spell?”

“What do you mean?” Eames gasps as Arthur drags his palm over Eames’ cock. 

“Do they ever fall out of love with you?”

“They do the second I stop speaking,” Eames agrees and catches Arthur’s gaze. “I can make you fall in love with me. I can’t make you stay.”

“You never made me fall for you,” is Arthur’s stubborn denial.

“Hush, Arthur,” comes the familiar sound of Eames’ soothing voice as he presses a hand to the back of his neck and catches his attention. “Just listen to me.”

And Arthur, never one to disobey an order, listens.


End file.
